


With The Right Company

by 9_of_Clubs



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Domestic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Power Outage, Will's imagination knows more than he does, surreality, thought piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a power outage, Hannibal and Will keep each other from the cold in more than one way. </p><p>Started out with fluff aims, but it kind of took on a dreamy, surreal, thought piece atmosphere... as things that play out in the dark with flickering fire often do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With The Right Company

It’s two am when the power goes out, but it takes another hour for the cold to creep in, to shake Will from his warm sleep with icy fingers, dismantling even the solid defenses of Hannibal’s house. He tries to ignore it at first, Hannibal still asleep, warm and solid against him, tries to shut his eyes and pretend the temperature isn’t steadily dropping around them, but it’s something of an exercise in futility. For a heartbeat or two, he drifts off, a dark forest rising in his dreams, his fingers icicles, the wind ripping at his cheeks as he tries to shield his face, hide away his skin. He wakes with a start, heart pounding, sure his blood has frozen in his veins, but he is merely cold, though it is impossible to ignore now.

If this were his room, and his house, he would know what to do, there would be dogs to steal warmth from and a fireplace right across from the bed, ready to cast light and heat. But here, though he’s steadily appropriating his own spaces behind these walls, he’s still a stranger. He doesn’t know quite what to do in this situation, doesn’t want to wake Hannibal up to ask if there’s a generator or wood for the fireplace downstairs, or anything else, like a child waking a parent. No. In the end, he settles on stumbling out of the bed, reaching for his discarded sweater and pulling it around him, surveying the room in near darkness, hoping to find anything to stave off the chill.

“Will?” Hannibal’s voice filters into his thoughts, the other shifting groggily in the bed, tired confusion shading his gaze, his hair is still mussed from sleep, and there’s a rasp to the edge of his words. It makes Will forget the goosebumps on his arms temporarily, and the way his toes are prickling with cold, in favor of smiling crookedly at the other. It always disarms him when Hannibal manages to look, well, cute, and it usually takes waking him up in the middle of the night to catch it. He realizes the other is still looking at him though, a puzzled expression deepening across his waking features, and shakes his head to clear it, eyes falling down to his feet as he shrugs.

“The power went out.” He pitches his voice down, almost whispering because the darkness seems to demand it, even though it’s just the two of them. “I was cold, so I was just -” He’s not sure what he was just going to do, probably make a giant mess downstairs trying to find wood and matches in Hannibal’s maze of a house. But Hannibal doesn’t prompt an answer from him when his voice stutters out, instead pushes himself to his feet, body rising gracefully even when half awake.

“I suppose it was remiss of me not to give you the necessary information for emergencies.” Hannibal has turned from him, retrieving a folded sweater of his own from the closet. He looks back at Will for a moment, lips curving up. “You will forgive me, there were other, hrm-” He half smirks, eyes drawing along Will’s body. “distractions that continued to take precedence.”

“Oh really, Doctor Lecter.” He’s shifted with the words, Hannibal’s undercurrent of invitation pulling him across the room. Realization that he’s moved scarcely registers at all until he’s standing in Hannibal’s space, the heat of the other inviting, juxtaposed against the chill of the air. His cold fingers reach up to settle on the still bare skin of Hannibal’s chest, while his other hand creeps up to curl around his cheek, pulling him down until their lips are sealed together, the kiss icy on the outside, searing on the inside. “Do I distract you?”

Hannibal’s laugh rumbles through his body, vibrating into Will, the other’s hands tucking themselves under his sweater, their eyes meeting. In the almost darkness, there’s amusement in Hannibal’s gaze, but something more complicated playing beneath. It takes him a moment to recognize on Hannibal, a certain blend of almost sadness mixed with grief, a hint of anger. They’re all so barely present, it’s hard to be sure he’s not imagining them. The seduction of the moment goes quieter with something else.

“You make me -” Hannibal’s face presses into his hand, a strange, soft, honesty to his voice, his tongue curls long around the words. “infinitely careless, Will.”

It’s not a reprimand, nor is it a compliment, exactly, and Will isn’t sure what to make of it, so he just holds the gaze, relishes the feel of Hannibal’s skin against his own. They’re both prone to their fits of weirdness, to behaviors that anyone but the two of them would raise more than a brow at, so he just lets it sit in the end. He’s too fumbling of his own accord to pry into whatever is going through Hannibal’s mind, and something tells him, that here, now, is not the time for secrets to unfurl. There’s enough cold in the air between them, no need to add on more of their own.

Hannibal leans forward and kisses him again, grateful hints in the play of his lips, and then the weight vanishes in an instant, snapping back and locking away somewhere Will can’t follow it anymore. He lets it fade, concentrates instead on stealing the warmth from Hannibal’s body, movements rougher now, his hand sliding from skin to hair, twisting. When they part again, they’re both panting, the first slivers of their breath becoming visible in the room.

“Case in point.” Hannibal murmurs to himself, extracting his body from Will’s grasp with a fleeting smile and finally pulling on the shirt in his hand. He pulls the comforter off the bed and wraps it around Will’s shoulders before motioning towards the door. They pad through the silent, dark, hallways and down carpeted steps until their feet find the icy stone floor of the living room.

“If you’ll forgive me one last moment of your ignorance.” Hannibal settles him on the couch, head tilting down to look at him, tugging the blanket straight thoughtlessly, curving it around the bare parts of Will’s body. “I should think it would be easier to teach you the secrets of my home when have both heat and light. It will be quicker if I care for it on my own -” He pauses and adds. “this one last time.”

Will isn’t sure exactly why, but he always gets a thrill when Hannibal talks about their relationship as though it has a lengthy future ahead of it. Some part of him filled with lingering anxious doubt, as though deep down he is sure they’re heading for nothing more than collapse. Words like these, when they come, few and far between as they may be, ease something in him, push the expiration date farther away. He nods absentmindedly at the other as he mulls through his thoughts, besides it only makes sense not to do a tutorial in the darkness... Knowing Hannibal there are a thousand complicated bits to his house that Will would only muddle. He understands machines, sure, how they work and function, but everything Hannibal seems to collect is a shade too strange to resemble the norm. He huffs a quiet laugh as the other vanishes into the black around them, he probably qualifies to be included in that category himself.

Time stretches oddly in the dead of night and the minutes seem to linger as Will waits, the sound of his chattering breaths loud in the silence, the pounding of his heart. But sooner or later a click comes and the thrum of something electric starts to run through the veins of the house, certain lights coming to life, a shade dimmer than normal, others staying resolutely off. Hannibal himself does not surface for several moments more, almost enough time passing for worry to clench up in Will’s gut, turning unpleasantly just as the other emerges, an armload of firewood in his grasp.

He tips the wood into the fireplace, but doesn’t light it, brings the matches over to Will instead, the glow of the lights shadowing his face.

“I think you might have a better hand for this than I.” There’s a faint kiss to the top of his hair and then Hannibal has pulled away again, settling onto the couch himself, his arm reaching round and procuring another blanket from seemingly nowhere. He wraps it around himself as Will rises.

It’s more lavish and far better kept than his own, but Hannibal’s fireplace is thankfully, just a fireplace. The wood smells deeply of pine and crackles to life when he lights it, small pieces of kindling intermixed with the larger logs. It puts him far from the city for a moment, back into the forest of his dream, but it’s quiet now, if still cold, the moon high in the sky, the scent of smoke dancing across his skin, both burning and sweet, tears forming in his eyes. He’s lost there for a moment, as his fingers feed the fire, searching for warmth, trees looming around him, the rush of wind and river in the distance. Only the fireplace makes the trip with him. The sound of something crunching on leaves distracts him from his task of survival, from his need for heat, and his eyes find that of a magnificent stag, a shadowy form in the silvery light. It looks at him and he looks back. A stick sparks in the fireplace jarring him, trance breaking, and he jumps to find himself back in Hannibal’s living room.

Hannibal’s gaze is on him as he turns on his knees, his body outlined by the flames, Hannibal’s eyes glittering in the same, hungry, watching his every move.

“Where did you go Will?” The other’s voice is nothing but a low murmur as he shifts to allow Will under the blankets again; the room is starting to drown in the hot licks of flame, the reach of the fire surrounding them like a warm bath. Awful tiredness creeps through him again as he burrows into Hannibal’s body, a strong arm wrapping around his side, tugging him closer. Hannibal tilts to rest his head atop Will’s.

A part of him wonders if Hannibal knew he might have had that reaction to the logs, that they might spur something half memory, half fantastical, in his mind. A part of him wonders if Hannibal engineered this whole outage so that they might end up right here, tucked close in each other’s arms, Will aware but still strangled by his dream, wanting to go back and find the place he left behind.

“How do you feel about camping?” He asks instead of answering, letting his eyes slide shut, the sound of sputtering flames the only noise for a good minute or so. He can feel the weight back again in the next few breaths, something dark in the silence, some unwanted memories in the cold and the flames, in woods and winter, lingering around Hannibal, but then the feeling fades before Will can retract his query.

“I’m afraid.” Hannibal speaks into his skin, the cadence of it slowing as well, breathing evening, exhaustion reigning again. “I have only had bad experiences. But perhaps -” Will hears the words as he starts to lose himself back to the forest, the moon rising again, the wind growing, the scent of earth easing him through. “With the right company.”

He’s staring at the stag as it comes near him, dangerous and looming, but as it settles around his body like a dog, it blocks the wind, keeps away the cold. It finally brings him the solace he's been seeking, warms his body straight through, hotter than the flames, more fulfilling. It’s a creature of darkness, but his heart stretches towards it anyway.

 _Yes,_ he thinks to himself, _with the right company._


End file.
